


Chrysalis

by Ozma



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascian, Crack, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozma/pseuds/Ozma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warrior of Light goes on an intimate excursion with Nabriales.</p><p>Plotless, bitter, Ascian-styled fluff. Pre-2.5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

> It is extremely easy to fall into the trap of making a Nabriales pairing fic a drama or tragedy. I refuse to do so. Yet.
> 
> Instead you get crack.

For all Minfilia was confident in her elaborate presentation about the difficulties Ascians face when teleporting about whenever and wherever they please, you are profoundly disappointed; their teleportation really feels no different from yours.

“Now that you have been here, you’ll be able to return at will.” Nabriales guides your Aether to touch _something_. It is best not to ask too many questions, but the process gives you a sense that it is similar to Attunement.

This place is paradoxical, seeming simultaneously empty and filled to its brim with energy. The Aetherial Rift is all purple, black, and strangely crystalline; it reminds you of Nabriales’ robes and, in that, is comforting, but you find it impossible to shake the sense that you do not belong.

How you will explain your knowledge of this place to the Scions if the time comes to take advantage of it, you have no idea. ‘I went on an intimate excursion with an Ascian who brought me there’ would not be easily believed or excused.

You’ve become a very good liar about these outings. You’ll find a way to explain it, if you must.

Nabriales has already wandered forward and your gaze follows him to what appears to be a large monument.

“Elidibus likes to stand here and preach.” Nabriales lifts his arms over his head dramatically, his back to you, his voice bitter as he looks upon the monument. You can almost hear the sneer you know is on his face.

“On and on and on he goes.” As he lowers his arms, the Ascian pulls his cloak down and mask off, not particularly caring for the formalities expected of him. “’Nabriales, this must be done – but not in that manner! There are laws. We have responsibilities.’” Though the man does not quite mimic Elidibus’ voice as he complains, you can barely hold back a smile, as it would not be entirely surprising if he started to do so.

“He is quite difficult.” Nabriales is fully serious in his rant. When he finally turns back to you, the smile finally breaks free onto your features.

“He did not seem terribly unpleasant.” You offer, cautiously. Other than frequent disdainful comments about Lahabrea that you cannot disagree with, this is the first time Nabriales has spoken of his allies. It is unexpected for such hostility to exist between the Ascians and the spiteful insight your companion offers is enlightening.

You reason, silently, that if it is Elidibus who restricts Nabriales from his brasher, unrestrained activities then the Emissary cannot be _that_ bad. You know better than to vocalize those thoughts and let Nabriales continue his tirade.

“He is quite fascinated with you.” Nabriales – or the Hyur-like form Nabriales’ Aether takes, it is difficult to remember the difference at times – approaches you until you can feel _him_ radiating over you, through you, into your Aether and through your core, permeating into the Light. The man’s form before you may feel your breaths, but _Nabriales_ feels everything.

You wonder if Nabriales knows how distracting he is, at such a distance; you can barely focus on his complaints about Elidibus. “On and on and on _and on_ he goes.” Nabriales repeats the phrase and you can see his features turn disapproving, but his Aether is overwhelming and you feel as if you are drowning. He is so close; everything should be clear, not murky as if looking through clouded glass.

“If given the option of him or Lahabrea, I’d much sooner treat with Elidibus.” You tell yourself that you’re not intentionally goading him, but you’re not in the habit of lying to yourself. You desperately need a moment of reprieve from the overwhelming pressure of Nabriales, who seems as if he will only stop once he engulfs you.

“Hmph.” Your words have the opposite effect and, in his annoyance, you can feel Nabriales constrict. The Hyur-like form before you clenches your hand and his Aether coils around you in what you can only assume is some Ascian act of sheer possession.

You aren’t quite sure how to respond to this; though you’ve learned to read and predict the man’s moods well enough, this is something new entirely.

Before you can form any words, there is a strange, firm pressure that wills you forward, mixed with Nabriales’ mortal form guiding you, without subtlety, to the empty space under the monument that dominates the room.

If Nabriales did not so completely not overwhelm your senses, you might have more thoroughly examined the statue, but in your dazed state you only truly comprehend that it is large and that you _really_ should not be here.

Not that you should have been consorting with an Ascian in the first place.

There’s no point in second guessing your actions; you will live with your decisions, as you always do – not that Nabriales will allow otherwise in his current state.

Still floating in the sea that is Nabriales, your irrational mind belatedly translates the feelings of your body. Wherever you are, this realm is surprisingly warm. Comfortable, welcoming.

You should be afraid, in this place, where the light shines weakest and you are at the mercy of an unknowable, dark God and one of his most powerful servants immerses you with Aether.

You’re not.

“Cool. Reticent. Serene. Impenetrable. Elidibus is right to be fascinated.” Nabriales’ voice is loud in your ear as his physical form pulls you as close as his Aetherical form already is, his hair brushing your flesh. “I must do enough talking for the both of us, for you certainly will not.”

His bluntness earns him another secret smile, one he cannot see with your face pressed into his robes, but one you are certain Nabriales knows is present nonetheless.

In attempt to confound his assumption that you will remain silent, you ask the first thing that wades through the murkiness of your mind “Why are we here?” This is certainly not what you expected when Nabriales dragged you away from your responsibilities and demanded your time.

“Lord Zodiark is near.” There is _something_ in his voice; at first you think it might be reverence, but with Nabriales, it is impossible to be sure. You wait for the Ascian to elaborate, but he does not. Instead, his hands move up and down your body in a gentle, soothing caress, his fingers massaging wherever they pass over, his lips sucking softly on your neck.

There is a push at the back of your mind. Indistinct, light, like the pressure of a chore you know must be done, but you ignored for the day or an undesired path of thought that keeps pushing itself into the forefront of your mind. There is no form to this push, but it becomes more demanding as you try to ignore it.

Very much like Nabriales.

You do not fear him in your mind; the Echo prevents him from possessing or controlling you. If he wanted to harm you, he would have done so already. The mental touch becomes more persistent and demanding; Nabriales expects something and you are unsure _how_ to respond. You’ve trained in a great many things in your travels, but telepathy is not one of them.

Your pride prevents you from asking the man for assistance, so you do what is most familiar. You are not experienced with using the Echo so willingly and you draw only emptiness as you try to emulate the sensations of when you dive into others to experience their memories or communicate with Hydaelyn.

You press your eyes closed and focus on the gentle strokes of Nabriales’ hands, the unpredictability of his lips, and the pulse of his Aether, on everything that is _him._

There is no dizziness this time, but you know when your attempt works by the change in your Aetheric flow.

You open your eyes, satisfied, but the sight that awaits you is not what you expect.

You’ve seen Him before. You would never have forgotten that one short moment when a new Era was declared; it is ingrained as deeply into your mind as your first time communicating with Hydaelyn.

Blacker than the blackest starless night. Familiar and completely alien. Warm instead of cool. Unrestrained instead of reticent. Chaotic and turbulent instead of serene and calm. Responsive to even the slightest disturbance of Aether instead of impenetrable. The outgoing King to the reserved Queen.

The trickles continue over your body, but Nabriales is not there to touch you. The power intertwines with your core, the pulse, the _heat_.

You blink and instinctively pull away.

There is only Nabriales now; He is gone.

“Ah.” The Ascian murmurs between kisses. If he uses his Hyur-form’s voice or if he speaks in your mind, you don’t know. Whatever it was you did worked; the connection between you has solidified and the blurry visage of Nabriales’ Aether around you has cleared.

If he knows what you’ve seen, for once Nabriales shows restraint and says nothing.


End file.
